


Big Girl Panties

by The_End13



Category: Chicago Blackhawks - Fandom, Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 11:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12432207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_End13/pseuds/The_End13
Summary: Her life is one big party in the eyes of Trixie O'Callahan. With no responsibilities tying her down and a more than comfortable job as an equipment manager with the Chicago Blackhawks, she sees no real reason to grow up. But, when a series of unprotected hookups with left-winger Daniel Carcillo eventually turn the pregnancy test blue, the harsh reality of the real world comes faster than she would like. As the months count down to her due date, Trixie realizes it's time to put on her big girl panties and get ready for the one thing she never saw coming...motherhood.





	1. supply closet rendezvous

“Trix, this isn’t funny.” Clint pounded on the locked bathroom door and spoke with pure frustration. All the hardworking man wanted was a shower before heading off to bed.

“Give me five minutes, please!”

Trixie O’Callahan had the same pent-up frustration in her overworked body and it wasn’t her fault she had managed to beat her co-worker to the bathroom. She knew it had been a bitch move, running a hot bath rather than the agreed upon ten-minute shower, but she had inconveniently thrown her back out while tossing the equipment bags onto the plane. It wasn’t only Clint who worked hard.

From the other side of the door, she could hear him sigh and walk away. Probably doing what he always did when she pulled that stunt: flop onto his bed and sulk with the television volume on blast on a channel she absolutely hated. After nearly seven seasons with the Chicago Blackhawks as an equipment manager, Trixie thought she had earned the right to her own hotel room. That would be a discussion she would take up with Stan again in the morning. Even though she knew she would get the same old expired answer.

Rinsing the suds off her flushed skin, Trixie decided to call it night and pulled the drain before getting out. There was one thing Trixie enjoyed about staying in some of the nicest hotels while on the road and that was the plush, white cotton towels that so graciously soaked up the excess water from her skin. Opening the door, steam escaped behind her and another groan came from Clint. He was smart enough to know she had more than likely used all the hot water supplied to their room.

“I am so getting my own room next season.”

Trixie teased, “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Holding the towel against her body and moving to her bed, Trixie playfully stuck her tongue out at her roommate. Over the years, she and Clint had developed a tight knit friendship and fought like brother and sister. Clint claimed the bathroom his. When her eyes fell upon the clock she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was nearing three in the morning. She was most surprised by the fact she wasn’t exactly ready to lay down and close her eyes despite the fact she had spent the last two hours preparing the locker room for the morning skate and the evenings game.

At first nothing had seemed out of place in the quiet hotel room. Why should it? No one else—that she knew of—had a key to the room expect her and Clint. But, when she noticed one crucial thing was missing her relaxed mood had suddenly faded and the anger and frustration had set in.

“Damn it, Shaw!” She breathed out.

Clad only in her towel and not forgetting her key, Trixie marched out into the silence of the hallway. She knew exactly what had happened to her duffle bag for it wasn’t the first time this stupid stunt had been pulled on her. It was a game the infamous Adam Burish and Patrick Sharp had thought of one bored night and it seemed that Sharp had passed the ritual off to one young player now that his partner in crime was long gone from Chicago.

Standing in the middle of the hallway, Trixie cleared her throat. “Andrew Shaw, you have five seconds to open your door.”

It took less than five seconds for Andrew Shaw to open the door to his room. Sure enough, he held a smile mimicking that of the Cheshire cat. He knew exactly why his name had been called out and the sight of seeing Trixie O’Callahan standing in the hall with only the small plush towel wrapped tightly around her curvaceous body was well worth the week of hell she would likely put him through.

“What?” He asked innocently.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’?” Trixie snapped. “I want my fucking duffle.”

Shaw was hoping that at any second the towel would fall and he could catch a glimpse of the body Adam Burish had described to him in perfect detail one drunken night he had been in town. Not even seconds after the words had left her mouth; three more doors had swung open, all eager to see if her towel would pool around her feet.

Jonathan Toews was in only his boxers, annoyed that once again this stupid prank had woken him from his sleep, while his neighbor from across the hall, Patrick Kane slyly held his phone ready with the camera on. He was clearly pretending to text and he didn’t know why he still pretended to do so after all these years. Daniel Carcillo’s door was the closest to her, and while this had been the first time he was a witness to the chaos, his roommate, Bryan Bickell was not. He giggled like a school girl and gave the thumbs up to Shaw.

“It’s cold, I’m tired and, I would appreciate it if you would return my duffle.”

Deciding it was time to give it back—and that he would definitely do it again in the future—Andrew grabbed her bag and walked it out to her. “Can you at least show me your tits?”

With the hand that wasn’t holding her towel up, Trixie playfully punched him in the shoulder before taking back what was hers.

“So is that a no?” He called out.

“Fuck you, Shawzy.”

However, the first thing Trixie did was drop her towel the second the door closed behind her. Clint was still in the shower. She hadn’t been lying about the fact she was cold and all she wanted was too cozy up in a pair of old sweats and a sweatshirt. It was always a mystery to her as to how the guys managed to coax the front desk into giving them a copy of the key to their room. They all took advantage of the fact she was the first one at the rink and the last one to leave.

Crawling into her full sized bed, Trixie made herself comfortable and flipped through channels before settling on the Lifetime Network. The movie would for sure knock her out in a matter of minutes. When Clint exited the bathroom and dressed for bed, he was too tired to fight her for the remote and fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Being a night owl was somewhat of a curse Trixie had inherited from her father.

Her eyes were beginning to feel like cinder blocks and no more than a minute after she had turned off both the television and light, her iPhone vibrated on the nightstand. The light damn near blinded her as she punched in her passcode and read the late night message.

down the hall, third door on the right 

Not responding and playing it off like she was already asleep was not an option she could or wanted to go with. Pushing the covers off her body, Trixie tip-toed out of the room and followed the directions. As she neared the third door to her right, it opened before she had a chance to open it and calloused fingers gripped her forearm pulling her in. It was pitch black and smelled like cleaning supplies.

“What are you—“ She was cut off with a kiss. A kiss that she melted into and recognized the taste of the tongue as it slipped past her lips.

“I believe I’m about to fuck you. If that’s okay?” He attacked her neck with feverish kisses, sucking, nibbling the skin. When Trixie responded with only a moan, he took that as his okay to proceed with pulling down her sweats and panties. Trixie worked quickly to pull down his basketball shorts and boxers after she kicked aside her bottoms.

In a swift motion, he pushed Trixie against the wall and like a reflex, she hoisted her legs and wrapped them tight around his waist. Before it registered in her head what was about to happen, Trixie had to bite her lower lip hard in an attempt to silence the loud moan, which threatened to escape. He had to do the same as her tightness surrounded his hard member. Her name trembled out of his mouth a few times as he thrust her harder and harder against the wall. Their lips desperately met for a kiss to drown out the sounds they were making.

With nothing around her to grip her fingers tightly around, Trixie dug her fingernails into his shoulders as she body neared its climax, with her clit rubbing feverishly against his hipbone. That welcomed hot tingle welled in her belly and seconds after her muscles tightened and began to twitch, she felt the warmth of him spill inside.

They shared a few quick kisses before Trixie unwrapped her legs from around his waist. She had little confidence in placing her feet on the ground as her legs were so shaky and felt as if Jell-O had replaced her bones.

“Shit, Trix.” He breathed out, pushing a lock of her damp raven hair off her sweaty forehead.

Both were satisfied though preferred another place than the hotel supply closet to do their deed. But, that’s a small price to pay while on the road. They used an iPhone to provide them with enough light as they searched for the clothes they discarded moments ago. Trixie was sure her panties were on inside out. Leaving the closet they were hushed, not wanting to cause a commotion and disturb anyone who may have caught a case of insomnia. The two of them together would be hard to explain.

They reached his door first and before going in, he grabbed her arm yet again to stop her stride. He wanted a goodnight kiss. “Goodnight, Trixie.”

Pecking at his reddened and swollen lips, Trixie drew in a sharp intake of oxygen. “Goodnight, Dan.”


	2. whiskey and kisses

It was one of those rare occasions where they had more twelve hours in one city. Having been in Phoenix the previous night, they jet-setted off to Nashville hours after the game to spend Friday through Sunday in the music city. It was no surprise the boys had kicked the asses of the Coyotes and all Trixie could think about was how they would kick in the Predators teeth come Sunday. She and Clint had worked quickly in getting the locker room set to perfection. Now all Trixie looked forward to on her Friday night was ordering room service and settling down with Netflix. That, however, took most of the guys by surprise as they sat down to dinner at a barbecue place in the heart of Nashville.

“Where the hell is O.C.?” Shaw asked as he ordered another beer.

Dan hadn’t noticed she was missing until Andrew had pointed it out. Clint was there. Patrick Sharp, who overheard Andrew’s question, stopped his conversation with Jonathan and took the liberty of answering on her behalf.

“Trixie—Trixie has a grudge against Nashville.”

Andrew looked confused and Dan’s curiosity had been sparked. They had been sleeping together for the past year; he figured he would have known if she held a grudge over a city. But then again, there wasn’t much talking going on between the two. He had no idea what her favorite color or Chinese restaurant was.

“How does one,” Dan coughed, trying to hold back his laughter, “have a…grudge against a city?”

Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was in his place to share such a private detail of Trixie’s personal life, but Dan had asked and the alcohol was clouding his better judgment.

“A few years back she was screwing this guy who she fell head over heels for and he wanted nothing to do with her unless they were in bed. Nashville is one of his favorite cities and he actually comes down here when we play. She knows he’s here, doesn’t know where, and that’s why she’ll be barricaded in the hotel unless she’s needed at the arena.”

That surprised both Dan and Andrew. Trixie didn’t seem like the kind of woman who would let a stupid man ruin some of the heaviest partying she could be out doing. But, what they didn’t know was even hearing his name spoken was enough to send her almost into immediate tears. She had taken Patrick Kane’s advice—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. 

Her 'someone else' was been lucky number 13.

“Is it true she’s inbred?”

Sharp couldn’t believe Saad had asked that question. Trixie's hockey lineage was just as well known as Paulina Gretzky's. “Yeah, royally inbred. Her father is Jack O’Callahan.”

“The Jack O’Callahan. As in, beat the Soviets and won the gold medal in ’80, Jack O’Callahan?”

Sharpie simply nodded before going back to his conversation with Jonathan, leaving not only Saad in amazement as to Trixie’s family tree but yet again, Dan. He was rather peeved by the fact that she had left that significant detail out. Taking his wallet out of his pocket, Dan grabbed a couple twenties and tossed them into the middle of the table.

“Carbomb, where you going?” Kane bellowed.

Getting up from the table he thought of a quick lie that was pretty believable. “Feel a migraine coming on. Want to take an Excedrin and lie down before it gets worse.”

As he started walking away from the table he heard Kaner say something along the times of he promised to call if he ran into good looking girls ready to have a good time.

 

Back in her room, Trixie was content sitting in her bed Indian style with her laptop and, a pint of red velvet cake ice cream. She was catching up on the latest episodes of Grey’s Anatomy she had missed, thankful for the few hours of peace and quiet she had. While it didn’t happen often, she knew the boys would get Clint liquored up and by the time he got back to the hotel he’d either be almost to tears as to how much he misses his girls or complain about how much they make him crazy.

It made Trixie thankful that she didn’t have anyone to worry about or miss while on the road. After all, even though both she and her father were hundreds of feet apart at the United Center on games nights, she blamed work during the winter and vacations during the summer as to why they hardly saw each other. It was mostly because she was afraid the ‘have you thought about settling down’ conversation would come up, and if by ‘settling down’ he meant a quitting her job for a husband, a baby, and white picket fence then she wanted nothing to do with that conversation.

That’s why she had kept Dan around as long as she has; he wanted exactly what she wanted too. No responsibilities. They first began hitting the sheets the summer he had signed with Chicago. He had always been a favorite player of hers and she couldn’t believe how easy it had been for her to make conversation and it was bonding over classic rock bands which had led them to their first kiss. From there, the rest is history; nothing more than three days a week hookups since their schedules matched up perfectly. They had never been on a date, briefly spoke of past relationships and always made sure to never be seen in a ‘romantic’ way around the rest of the other guys. They were grown adults, doing what adults do but there were stupid (one logical on Trixie’s part) reasons as to why they never revealed to anyone what was going on.

Trixie was slightly annoyed when she heard a knock at her door. She thought she had made it clear this was a night she wanted to herself and wondered who it had been who didn’t get the memo. She guessed it was Shaw, showing up drunk looking for her to show him her breasts - something he had his horny mind set on for...how long, she doesn’t know. Putting her pint of ice cream down on the nightstand, she got up and looked through the peephole. Her heart started racing. It was Dan.

“Give me a second.” She called out.

Quickly, Trixie stripped off her oversized white hoodie and shimmied out of her salmon-colored sleep shorts. She tossed clothes over her shoulder as she dug through her duffle looking for something slightly decent. A black tank top and jeans would have to do. She dressed in record time and opened the door trying to control her breathing and act as natural as possible.

Dan held up on her favorite things in the world, a bottle of Jameson whiskey. “I figured you’d want a little company.”

Grabbing his wrist, Trixie pulled him in. She wasn’t sure what excited her the most: the whiskey or the sex she knew would follow. After the door closed and locked behind Dan, his smile said it all. Trixie wrapped her arms around his neck as their lips collided for an electrifying kiss. She started to wonder why she had changed in the first place when it would have saved major time if she had just answered the door naked.

 

Gameday was Trixie’s favorite day. It was her time to shine and do what she did best. Music blasted from a docking station and she wondered who had earned the right to plug their iPod in. She was fond of the music and found it easier to work under stress when she could break out into a thirty-second dance party. Nor did she care who saw her do it, everyone has their own way of dealing with the stress that accompanied gameday. 

Most of the guys sat at their cubbies dressing and taping sticks, Hossa and Mayers waited for Clint to finish sharpening their skates and Trixie was stuck fixing the visor on Duncan’s helmet before moving on to the rest of them. Making sure the visors were screwed in tight, free of smudges and fingerprints. Next, she would move on to preparing extra sticks for Kane, who had broken one during practice and, stitch the torn fabric of Stalberg’s pants. She would have finished with her tasks soon if she hadn’t been sent on a chase to track down Seabrook’s mouth guard.

“You playing tonight?” Trixie asked Dan as he rested his back against the wall. Trixie was cleaning the captain’s helmet. He was still dressed in his suit so she already figured his answer.

Tearing into a packet of fruit snacks, he shook his head. “Scratched. I think I may go for the press box hat trick.”

“Can you save a hot dog for me?” Trixie joked.

“I’ll even snag you a few packets of ketchup.”

Dan laughed at the look on Trixie’s face. It was that of disgust as he remembered the conversation he had with her about how no self-respecting Chicagoan ate a hot dog with ketchup. Her taste was mustard, onion and relish. Although, she wasn’t sure if she could stomach a hot dog. Her belly had been churning all day. When she woke up that morning, the smell of Clint’s bacon and eggs breakfast had sent her straight to the bathroom to empty her stomach contents.

“Are you feeling okay? You look like shit.” Kane was nice enough to point out.

“Hungover. I haven’t been this hungover since my bender back in ’10.”

Patrick laughed. “Pffft. You don’t get hangovers. I believe it’s called pregnancy.”

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole.” Trixie shot back. “It’s called drinking a bottle of whiskey.”

Trixie could see Dan out of the corner of her eye and she was sure he had turned as white as a sheet. She wanted to slap Pat for such a stupid comment. There was no way for her to chase Dan down after he had excused himself without seeming suspicious. Shoving Patrick’s helmet and stick into his arms, she cursed him as he walked away. Making sure the coast was clear, Trixie pressed her hands against her breasts in reassurance as they weren’t tender. 

“Nope, not pregnant.” Trixie guaranteed herself before turning around and going back to work.


End file.
